Mageling
by Dolore E Miseria
Summary: This is the story of a promising young mage who must face the sudden harsh reality of life away from his school. He must soon make friends from enemies, and enemis from friends.
1. Prelude

Prelude  
  
She sat upon her beautiful jeweled throne. She knew this was where her legacy would begin. This is where it would start, she thought, where it would focus.  
  
She ordered her slaves to lower her, while on her throne, to settle on the highest peak of the burnt, molten mass. She was a striking thing, yet beautiful by any standards. She wore a strong jaw which complemented her beautiful crimson eyes. They were crimson now only due to the night. Her elven lineage provided her with the luxury of infravision.  
  
She was half-elven, half-Draknee, and extreme rarity in the world of Faerun. She was the queen of the Draknee, a race whose numbers had dwindled over the last century, and, to the proud queen's utmost contempt, had become nearly a forgotten race, a lost thought amid the minds of scholars.  
  
"Queen Veh?" said one particularly revolting draknee, quickly snapping her out of her contemplations. She liked being called Veh, although this was not her name, it was a word of malevolence and power among the Draknee tounge.  
  
With a stare as peircing as a dagger's tip, she leered at the slave who had just spoken to her. He was a massive brute, who's silhouette alone would make a strong man crumble. He had massive muscular legs and arms, each almost a foot in width. He had the standard soot-stained breeches given to all Draknee slaves, which were each specially torn at the ankle to accomodate the clawed fourth toe which hung firmly from his scaled ankle. His feet and hands each had four digits. As all Draknees, this one had a sort of triangular head with a jutting mandible, and even purther jutting parietial. He looked at the black, volcanic ground in front of his queen with dark black orbs. He nervously licked at his imposing set of razor sharp teeth that stretched up to the small depressions which served as his ears at the sides of his head, awaiting the queens response.  
  
"What is it?" the Draknee queen demanded, drawing a flinch from the imposing slave.  
  
"M-My queen ... the obsidian is not solid enough to build on, a-and .. a number of us have suffered injuries from the smooth stone."  
  
The Draknee queen stared at him for a moment longer, only to make him flinch once more, before deciding to fill him completely with fright."You, dare disturb my private contemplations, for this?"  
  
"My queen, I will handle this minor matter," said one of the queens three, inseperable advisors who had been standing behind the throne at the highest peak of the Nerothop Mountain range, "and stop any further inquiries until you are finished with your contemplations."  
  
"Oh thank you Dracil, I do not know what I would do without you," the queen said rather sarcastically.  
  
Dracil bowed and hurried off past the queen, scooping up the slave still kneeling in front of the queen in her wake.  
  
"Queen Amerigo," said another one of her advisors, a short, stumpy looking draknee with an exceedingly long parietial, "There is st-"  
  
"Veh! It is Veh, Greco!" exclaimed the queen.  
  
"A thousand pardons, Queen Veh, but there is still the matter of the disease which so badly struck our people on the crossing from the mainland."  
  
"Urgh! Just deal with the diseased by throwing them into the nearest active volcano and leave me be for a moment!"  
  
"Yes, my queen," Greco said, in a tone which openly reflected her distaste for the queen's order, than stormed off toward the trail that led back down the natural, molten fortress.  
  
Queen Amerigo watched in pure elation as she saw her 400 strong army settling down for the night on the volcanic Nerothop mountains. This was the last of her kin, and she had worked hard to get this far, and now she would just rest atop her jewel-encrusted throne a while and contemplate all she had done, and all she would do.  
  
Yes, Amerigo Nuggrem's legacy would start here, atop the Nerothop mountains. 


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1  
  
The young man ran out in a wild rush. He dared to look back only to see tree next to him erupt in flames. The flares licked at his flowing white robe only to be turned away by a blue-green sphere that had materialized about him.  
  
He ran on with a look of fear in his eyes. He silently applauded himself for casting his minor globe of invincibility some minutes before.  
  
"You cannot run forever you know," said a voice just to the right of the young man. Startled, but not caught unawares, he quickly turned to the right and held his hands out before him and and uttered a few barely audible syllables. In an instant a blue-white light shot out from in front of his left hand and scorched through a shrub, bouncing from the ground into the air, as the young man lashed out with his quarter staff, spinning into a semi-arc while falling into a standard defensive stance.  
  
There was a sudden, brief hush in the forest as the young man's face splayed into a look of failure. He heard the leaves rustle in a tree behind him and the soft sound of sandaled feet running swiftly across the ground where he was standing only moments before.  
  
A dagger was upon his throat in an instant. "But you could at least try," said the same raspy voice he'd heard just seconds ago from the position he was facing now.  
  
"Oh what did I do wrong this time?" the young man said.  
  
"You did not cover all of your angles my dear boy," the raspy voice said, removing the dagger.  
  
"But I followed your voice to my right."  
  
"Thats because I threw my voice to your right, young sage."  
  
The young man turned around then to face his attacker. The man's attire was the same as his, although his robes were dark green. He had a rigid face with deep almost black eyes and salt and pepper hair. He had not shaved in days and it showed upon his cheeks and chin.  
  
"What have I taught you from the beginning, hmmm?" The man said in knowing, almost condescending tones.  
  
"You taught me never to trust my eyes or ears, only my heart and gut, Master Jukro," said the young man.  
  
"Good good, but did you?"  
  
The youth slowly shook his head, realizing his mistake.  
  
"Dont worry young Xanvians, you will learn in time, we all do," the man said sympatheticaly, "but I will tell you this, my gut is telling me that I have been training too long and it wants to be fed!"  
  
Master Jukro led the Xanvians out of the woods then, both master and pupil wearing a smile.  
  
* * *  
  
They walked for no more than five minutes when something donned on Jukro, "Ha, I had almost forgotten," he said, "we have to go round up Quiricas, you confused him so badly that he was launching fireballs in the dark, so to speak."  
  
"Really?" said Xanvians, with obvious pride swelling up in him,"I confused Master Quiracas?"  
  
"Oh yes, you are getting quite good, he didn't quite expect you enact such a potent invisibility at such a young age. Of course, I could have told him you would."  
  
Xanvians knew Jukro was referring to their training earlier, when his mentors had cornered him in a small copse of trees. He'd managed to escape their sight long enough to cast the most powerful invisibility spell he'd learned. Master Quiracas had stumbled into the copse to find it veritably empty, and that bought Xanvians the time he needed to slip past the wily old mage.  
  
Ahead of him, Jukro called out, "Come along Xan, my stomach yearns for a waxing shadow about it."  
  
The two set out again, only this time, one of them was a little lighter of foot.  
  
* * *  
  
They found Master Quiracas, or rather he found them, levitating above the forest tree-tops. Soon all three wizards were briskly making their way back to the camp.  
  
The camp wasn't really much, only a few tents set up around a circle of stones used for campfire. There were three masters on this session, each with a respective student. One of the students, a young man named Thom Mackerson, had taken ill and was set up one of the tents sleeping while the other two students were out training. That was how it went, for a week it had been, and this was the last day. Tomorrow they would head back to the cathedral known as Creonstone.  
  
Creonstone, more an academy than a cathedral, is a place where simplefolk of all walks of life sent their young to become what they will. Be it a Soldier, Mage or Cleric, the three sects of Creonstone accomodated for them. The barracks, wizard's spires, and the church. When Xanvians was sent there, not but four years ago, they found an obvious talent for magic, yet they left it up to him to decide whether he would train in the divine or the sorcerous arts. Xanvians chose wizardry believing it to be the most open of the two choices to master in what he will.  
  
"Have you or any of the other teachers found out what exactly is wrong with Thom?" asked Xanvians, as they entered the camp, easing their packs from their worn shoulders, "I hope its nothing too serious, otherwise he won't be able to make the walk back."  
  
"He should be fine by morning,' said Master Quiracas, resting down on the soft green moss that had grown under the dark shade of the trees, and leaning back on his pack, "Ooh, I think I am getting too old for all of this romping through the forest looking for lost students business."  
  
"Well thats an awkward thing for a wizard to say, eh Quiracas," said Master Jukro, "I mean, we do live a rather extended life, if you know what I mean."  
  
The three of them chuckled at that.  
  
"Excuse me, but I don't know what you mean."  
  
The three wizards turned to see the remaining two of their party approach from the shadows.  
  
"Thoiene, you havent taught your student of our extended life period!" scolded Master Quiracas, the senior wizard of the party.  
  
Master Thoiene, a jittery and perpetualy nervous-looking man who had an astonishing talent at squirming his way out of confrontations turned on his student, Izrah, the young man who had asked the prompting question.  
  
Izrah was almost the exact opposite of his mentor. He was a harsh young man who often let his anger get the best of him. He'd lost his mother and father in a tragic attack four years ago when the Great Hill Giants descended from the Orlandis Mountains in a brutal raid upon the small trading village of Temeth. Izrah, lost in the initial confusion of the attack, showed incredible resiliance by taking a small rowboat and paddling his way down the Creon River. After two weeks, and nearly 200 miles, he collapsed in the boat of hunger, and was found shored up by a caravan of merchants on their way to Carumport. Due to his age and the condition they found him in, they thought him a lost ward of Creonstone, so they brought him there. After much confusion and explanation, the Magistrate of Creonstone allowed Izrah to learn with the new students of his age.  
  
Given his choice, Izrah had wanted to become a wizard greatly and, in spite of his obvious physical strength, he was taken in to the Wizard's Spires, mostly on the pleading of Master Thoiene, who only wanted a strong stable boy to do his bidding.  
  
"I did tell you of the extended life of wizards," Thoiene blurted, obviously lying, "You, er ... must have simply forgot!"  
  
"Of course, my mentor," said Izrah, fully knowing the implications of not agreeing with his master's words, "I must have forgotten, I apologize."  
  
Xanvians looked upon the scene with sincere sympathy. He knew, as well as all the other would-be wizards at Creonstone, the ordeal that Izrah was in. While Xanvians was usually lighthearted, except for when it came to his magic of course, Izrah was always brimming with anger and intensity. The moment the two met, Izrah disliked him. Xanvians usually got along splendidly with his peers, but Izrah despised anything that wasted it's time on unimportant things. Xanvians had had a fairly easy life, while Izrah, obviously, had not, and with that, Izrah saw Xanvians as weak and soft.   
  
Since Izrah showed such intensity, he quickly climbed his way through the ranks to become one of the top students, right where Xanvians was. Izrah was not born to be a wizard, that much was obvious to even him, yet he had a tremendous amount of seemingly endless magical energy, something Xanvians had try to figure out the cause of, and yet still hadnt. While Xanvians, the top student of his class, could cast a lightning bolt in the blink of an eye, Izrah's flow of magic seemed unsurpassable. Of course, the matter of which of the two were better at wizardy had ignited immediate rivalry.  
  
"Well I am far too hungry to talk of teaching anyone anything at the moment, I plan on having a stew ready, and I want the both of you," nodding to Xanvians and Izrah, "to eat quickly and get to bed, you have a duel in the morning, and I dont want to have any bed-headed wizards throwing half thought out spells at eachother." With that, the five of them sat down under the waning sunlight to the smell of quickly brewing stew. 


End file.
